Chapter 1

I was born to be my sister's blood bag.

She needed a constant supply of fresh blood, so I stayed on call twenty-four hours a day.

No junk food. No getting sick. My whole body was kept in perfect condition, all for her sake.

The day I turned eighteen, they dragged me into an operating room to donate my bone marrow to her.

Half-conscious, with no one watching over me, I died right there in the hospital.

I thought that once I was gone, the three of them could finally live together happily as a family.

But after I died, they stopped loving her too.

Chapter 1

I died on a cold operating table.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the hospital, my parents were celebrating my older sister Betty Chase's new lease on life.

An hour earlier, my mother, Dr. Mary Piper, had forced me into that operating room even though my body was far too weak for the procedure. When I begged her to stop, she only sneered.

"Zoey, quit your acting," she said. "It's just a bone marrow donation. Do you think it's going to kill you? You were born with rotten luck, and I've told you a hundred times: this life of yours only exists because your sister does. You owe it to her."

I sobbed until I could barely breathe, my whole body shaking with cold.

I'd been my sister's walking blood bag since the day I was born.

Whatever she needed, however much of me it took, none of it had ever mattered, not even if they drained me completely dry.

My parents always said the same thing: if my sister hadn't gotten sick, I never would have been born at all. She was the reason I existed, so I owed her, and I was supposed to pay that debt back.

But who could really accept being born for someone else's sake, and wasn't even allowed to choose their own death?

I bit down on my lip and fought against them, my body swaying, worn thin from years of having my blood drawn.

"I want to live, Mom. I just want to live."

Staying alive should have been the simplest thing in the world. For me, it was a luxury I couldn't afford.

It wasn't that I refused to donate marrow to my sister. It was that my body, in its current state, wouldn't survive the slightest mistake.

Mom's eyes stayed cold as she pushed the anesthesia into my veins, then dragged me onto the operating table like a slab of meat. My mind slipped further into fog with every second, and I trembled with fear.

Grief and injustice welled up inside me all at once.

I could feel the cold press of her instruments against my hand. Her expression was grave and composed, her hands perfectly steady.

She really was the hospital's top surgeon. She couldn't even change her expression for her own daughter.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain, my heart pounding hard in my chest.

But soon enough, that heart would stop being alive at all.

In the last second before I lost consciousness, there was no one left beside me. Mom had already taken the marrow and rushed off to her beloved older daughter, leaving me alone on the table.

Pain tore through my whole body. I wanted to call for help, wanted to scream for my mother.

But nobody came. To save her precious daughter, Mom had taken every last member of the medical staff with her. She didn't even glance back at me.

Tears slid down my face as I died slowly, drowning in endless despair.

The instant my soul left my body, I clutched at my chest. The pain was suffocating.

It took me a long moment to claw my way out of that feeling. I forced out a breath.

My own body lay right in front of me, looking wretched, its eyes still open, unwilling to close even in death.

My mother's voice drifted in from somewhere nearby, and I floated toward it.

She was shouting, thrilled, "It worked! It worked!"

I didn't know exactly when it had happened, but I guessed Betty's surgery must have gone well.

As my older sister, she'd never given me anything in return. Meanwhile, I'd just paid for her with my own life.

Mom worked methodically, transfusing my marrow into Betty and monitoring her for complications.

Time passed quickly. By evening, Betty was awake.

Mom held her close, crying with worry, cursing my name the whole time.

"My poor baby, you've been through so much. Thank god that little wretch Zoey didn't slow things down, or I'd have drained every last drop out of her hide."

She never once asked whether I was safe. She never even remembered I'd been left behind in the operating room.

All she cared about was how much her older daughter had suffered, and how close I'd come to ruining her surgery.

A sharp ache burned behind my nose. I covered my mouth and answered in a whisper, "I'm dead, Mom. I died on your operating table. Are you happy now?"

Chapter 2

That night, Mom stayed glued to Betty's side, fetching her tea and refilling her water. Only there, next to her, did Mom ever act like a real mother.

It brought back a memory from when I was fifteen, the time I came down with a raging fever, my whole body burning up.

Betty had pressed her palm to my forehead out of curiosity, then yanked it back the second she felt how hot I was.

I curled into myself, miserable, and Mom slapped me across the face without a word of warning. "Don't you know your sister's already fragile?" she demanded. "If you're sick, stay away from her, you little jinx."

The blow left me dizzy, my whole body drained of strength. Mom spat on me, then scooped Betty into her arms and walked out.

From down the hall, I heard her mutter, "Stay away from that jinx. Come on, I'll buy you something good to eat."

The only reason Mom bothered with me at all that day was her fear that if I died, it might somehow hurt Betty's recovery. Left to her own instincts, she wouldn't have looked at me twice.

It was in that moment, closer to death than I'd ever been, that I finally understood: I wasn't loved. I existed for my sister, to keep her life going.

Morning light spilled through the window, and I was still trapped in that memory, drowning in it.

Betty, lying in her hospital bed, blinked and let tears spill down her cheeks.

She called softly for Mom, and once she learned the surgery had gone well, mother and daughter traded a warm smile.

If I hadn't already been dead, I imagined my presence in that room would have been an eyesore.

Mom held Betty close, telling her stories, already planning where they'd go once she'd recovered.

Maybe some flicker of conscience stirred in her, because Betty lowered her head, looking guilty.

"Mom, where's Zoey? Is she all right? This is all my fault."

Betty had always been delicate and pretty, and with those tears streaking her face, she looked exactly like someone who'd been wronged.

Mom stroked her hair, dismissive. "You're too kind-hearted. She doesn't even realize that if it weren't for you, she wouldn't have had the right to exist in this world at all.

"And look at her, ungrateful little wretch, too much of a coward to donate her marrow because she's scared of dying. I'm not letting her get her way. Don't worry about her. She needs to learn her lesson."

Word after word out of Mom's mouth, every one of them aimed at tearing me down. Betty hid the satisfaction in her eyes and let out a sob.

"Mom, she just doesn't like me. You can't force her. How am I supposed to face her after this?"

She was a viper dressed up as a saint, and I stood there with my fists clenched, unable to say a word.

The day before the marrow donation, Betty faked a medical episode and drained more than a pint of blood from me, far past what a body could safely spare. I sobbed and begged her to stop.

She just gripped my chin and smiled.

"What are you crying about, Zoey? This body of yours exists for me. It's only a little blood. What's the harm?"

With that, she dropped the blood bag straight onto the floor and started wailing.

"Zoey, I just want to live. What did I do wrong? Why are you doing this to me?"

When our parents pushed the door open, what they found was me on top of Betty, because I hated her, hated that she'd tortured me and tried to drain me dry.

But in their eyes, saving myself from her had turned into some act of rebellion, and I'd smashed the blood bag meant to save her life.

In our house, that counted as an unforgivable sin. Mom, still in her high heels, kicked me again and again until I was barely conscious, then had me dumped at the hospital without a second thought.

Later, to finish the marrow transplant as fast as possible, she ignored my injuries completely and dragged me straight to the operating table. That was what killed me.

Mom never loved me. She despised me, called me worthless down to the bone.

Chapter 3

I drifted off to the side, dejected, just as Dad hurried in.

He looked frantic, fussing endlessly over Betty.

I tried to catch my own name coming out of his mouth, but the three of them just talked and laughed together. Nobody remembered me.

A nurse rushed in, her face tight with urgency.

"Dr. Piper, what should we do with your daughter's body?"

She looked genuinely panicked, stumbling over her words. Mom didn't so much as flinch. She just waved a hand carelessly.

"Just wheel her somewhere out of the way."

My heart slammed in my chest. I hadn't expected my parents to take my death so calmly.

The nurse let out a startled sound, clearly not expecting that answer. Mom shot her a look, annoyed.

"What's with that face? I said put her somewhere out of the way. It's not a big deal. What else is there to do?"

Mom's expression was so casual it left the nurse walking out in a daze.

Dad blinked, startled, and muttered to himself, "Did she just say... a body?"

"What nonsense are you talking about? She's been spoiled her whole life, given the best of everything. How could she possibly die? That nurse must have misspoken. That little troublemaker, still trying to steal attention at a time like this, dragging us over here. It's disgusting."

I stood there numbly, letting out a bitter laugh.

The "best of everything" they gave me was really just force-feeding me bitter tonics and herbal remedies I couldn't stand.

There were all kinds of blood-replenishing concoctions too. Even thinking about them now turns my stomach.

But in my parents' eyes, that was all for my own good, building up a healthy body.

Betty, on the other hand, got to choose whatever she wanted. If she'd asked for the stars themselves, Mom would have found a way to get them for her.

I was different. The moment I showed the slightest reluctance, Mom's hand would come flying at my face.

She'd accuse me of being ungrateful, of never considering our parents' feelings, of not caring about my sick sister.

But who was there to care about me? I was a person too. I could hurt. I could cry. I could bleed.

Both my parents agreed the nurse must have misspoken, and no one went to claim my body. Beside them, Betty spoke up, straining to sound earnest.

"Dad, Mom, you should go check on Zoey. She didn't mean to cause trouble. She's still young. I should have been more patient with her, especially after everything she's given up for me. I can't let her hate me any more than she already does."

Her small face had gone pale, tears streaking down it, and Mom immediately pulled her into a tender embrace.

"If that little wretch gives you any more trouble, I'll beat her within an inch of her life. You're already on the mend, and whether she's around or not makes no difference. You're the only treasure this family needs, understand? She doesn't deserve to make you cry."

Dad hovered nearby, stamping his foot in worry. What a touching scene.

I pressed a hand to my aching cheek. Sunlight fell over me, but it carried no warmth at all, only cold.

A child born outside of love was wrong no matter what she did.

In that moment, I wished more than anything that I could simply cease to exist, cleanly, completely. Nothing hurts if you're not there to feel it.

Mom murmured soft comfort to Betty, while every foul word she'd learned in her lifetime got saved up for me.

I cried without a sound, absorbing blow after blow.

Maybe my death was good for everyone. A win-win ending, after all.

Chapter 4

That night, Betty came down with a low fever and started murmuring in her sleep.

"Zoey, don't hate me. I just want to live. Mom and Dad are getting old. I can't let them bury their own child. That would be the worst kind of disrespect."

Her face had gone pale, sweat beading on her forehead, but the words never stopped coming.

Mom, furious, flung the towel in her hand to the floor and stomped on it again and again, as if the crumpled cloth were me, as if she were already taking revenge on my sister's behalf.

I took a step back. Mom planted her hands on her hips and let loose a stream of curses.

"That tramp. Even now, at a time like this, she's throwing a tantrum instead of coming to check on Betty, making her worry herself sick. I regret ever giving birth to something like her. What rotten luck for this family. If anything happens to Betty, I'll pay it back on her tenfold."

Mom was convinced Betty had been wronged, and she was determined to fight for her.

On the bed, Betty lay with her eyes shut, the corner of her mouth curling faintly, her lashes trembling.

It was all an act, every bit of it, aimed at blackening my name and turning our parents' hatred of me even deeper.

That was the only way they'd never feel guilty: the only way they could go on loving a daughter as vicious as her without end.

Pain radiated through my skull, and I answered back with everything I had left.

"I'm already dead. You don't need to torture me anymore, and you don't need to regret anything either."

No one heard me. Dad pulled out his phone and dialed a number. I caught sight of it and realized it was mine.

His purpose was simple: he wanted to curse me out, to vent on Betty's behalf.

But he was bound to be disappointed this time, because I was dead, and dead people don't answer their phones.

Watching call after call, message after message, vanish without an answer, Dad slammed his phone down in frustration.

"Where is that tramp hiding now? I'd like to see what right she has to bully Betty. If it weren't for Betty, she never would have had the chance to exist in this world at all. Not knowing gratitude is one thing, but being this vicious on top of it? She really was born rotten."

Everyone kept reminding me that I only existed because of Betty, but if I'd had any choice in the matter, I would rather have been born a pig, a snake, anything at all, than their daughter, bullied and blamed for nothing.

Mom was furious too, and the two of them fell into step together, searching the hospital for me once they'd confirmed Betty was fine.

Since it was the hospital where Mom worked, finding me wasn't hard.

They followed a nurse who led the way, walking farther and farther into the building's depths, until they reached the cold, sterile morgue.

Mom's temper snapped.

"I'm looking for Zoey Chase. Why did you bring me here? Is this some trick of hers? Just because she's jealous of Betty, is she really pulling some cheap stunt like this? Tell her to get out here right now."

The nurse's whole body trembled. When she looked at Mom, there was disappointment in her eyes.

"Dr. Piper, Zoey is dead. She died in agony, alone, because you took every last member of the medical staff with you. There was no one left to look after her.

"As a doctor yourself, you understand better than anyone that she was never fit to donate marrow. Her body couldn't have survived it."

Mom stood there stunned by the outburst for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"How much is Zoey paying you to put on this little show? It's almost convincing. It's just a bone marrow donation. How could anyone possibly die from that?"

Mom was laughing so hard tears formed in her eyes. The nurse simply pushed the door open and spoke, her voice flat and cold.

"See for yourself, then."

It took only one step through that door for Mom to stumble, and it took her a long moment before she finally made it to my body.

She was afraid. I couldn't understand what she had to be afraid of.

She'd wanted me dead, hadn't she? She should have been thrilled to see my corpse this soon, ready for the crematorium.

Dad was even worse off. He covered his face, unwilling to lift the white sheet, until the nurse finally did it herself.

The sheet fluttered aside, revealing my ashen, gray-blue face and my eyes, still open, refusing to close even in death.